


A Good Cold

by BlueTigerTime



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Implied erisol - Freeform, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sadstuck, Sleep Deprivation, bad transitions, brain ghosts!!, gratuitous use of pesterlog formatting for the sake of pretty colors, italics!! so many italics, kurcro is also in there, not actually my pale ot3 but its gotta b someones right, pale ot3s, right...., send help, sick bc sad, theres some other ships mentioned in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 01:39:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4588167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueTigerTime/pseuds/BlueTigerTime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which Eridan Ampora Has A Shitty Time, And His Moirail Sorta Has A Shitty Time, And Kankri Vantas Really Did Not Mean For This To Happen But He Sure As Fuck Isn't Complaining.</p><p>Or, alternatively, Eridan passes Kankri's place on his way to his moirail's place, and Kankri is too curious for his own good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fish twink gets screwed

**Author's Note:**

> This is also secret santa gift fic, but this was the one I was actually assigned as opposed to the pinch hits I did. The prompt was something around the lines of Erikank or cronkri, so i stuck that shit together, and then for the places where I was putting in peripheral relationships, i asked for other ships the person liked. so there you go. my sekrets.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eridan is not having a good day.

Your name is Eridan Ampora and you think this is a load of bullshit. 

You’ve played games. You’ve done this before, you know how these damn things work. When a player wins, that’s it. They’ve won, they go home. They nurse their wounds and that's it. That's fucking _it._

This isn't supposed to happen. When somebody wins, they ain’t supposed to have nightmare after nightmare. They’re not supposed to wake up screaming and crying night after goddamn night. _You’re_ not supposed to wake up on the ground, arms wrapped around your torso, sobbing and wheezing, vision spinning and pulsating. Countless nights you've spent on the floor, terrified, muscles spasming. Hours. You have spent goddamn hours kneeled on the ground, both hands braced on the soft, yielding, deep purple carpet, barely managing to keep yourself upright and conscious. 

You’ve lost track of the time that has passed, all that time kneeling over sopor, a mess next to your ‘coon, hair slimy and slick, just like the floor had been after you had pulled the trigger, fuschia everywhere. It certainly doesn’t help that that damned green slime paralyzes you, relaxes your muscle and numbs them so you can’t hurt yourself in the midst of a nightmare or whatever. It also locks your limbs up, so you’re left staring at the ceiling, unable to move or scream, helpless, as an angel drifts closer, eyes shining and that dark abyss of a mouth looming. Sometimes it’s a friend, a troll you know, Sol or Kar 

_even Fef_

coming to punish you for your mistakes.

You’ve stopped sleeping in your recuperacoon.

Other times you fall asleep at the table, poring over some other stupid book Cro sent you 

_usually a romance, though sometimes you get a crime novel, those are always good. Cro’s so good to you, you don’t deserve the kindness, don’t deserve him_

or you black out after an eternity staring at the cabinet, nursing a mug of whatever it is you threw into the microwave for a few minutes. ‘Course, when you wake up, it’s not hot anymore, is it?

Occasionally, it’s random. 

Sometimes you end up on the couch, blanket tossed over your tense, frowning form.

On really bad days, days where you argue more with Cro 

_you don’t deserve him, he’s too good of a moirail to you_

more than your own goddamn kismesis,you end up passed out on the floor, curled up into a little tiny ball of sadness, tears, and moping. A whole shitload of vodka too, if you have any left.

Only downside to liquor is that it fucks you up, makes your senses fuzzy. Eventually, when it takes too much to concentrate, you start to think. You start to dream.

You start to breathe-

_no one ever told you you could drown in open air. no one ever explained how tight your chest could get, that horrible feeling in your throat, the desperation as you suck in breath after breath, hiccuping sobs tearing themselves from your mouth, low and pitiful whines echoing in the confining, empty space that surrounds you and closes in on you_

These days, you try not to sleep.

Today is not one of those days, unfortunately. _Today_ is one of your _really_ bad days. Today, ladies, gents, and non-binaries, is one of those days when you royally fucked up and pissed Cro off before you had even said a goddamn word.

Nice fucking job, Eri. You piece of _shit._

He’d even left after you’d sewn him up, 

_you couldn’t even do that correctly, after all the yelling and screaming, you’d been sure he was going to hit you, teach you a lesson. even after he’d apologized, your nerves had been shot to hell. hands shaking, you’d tried to sew that gill closed, so it could heal properly, and you had **kept**_ _fucking up. over and over you’d fuck up a stitch and had to undo it. what kind of troll can’t even fix up their ‘rail after a particularly angry blackrom date? you’re pathetic_

leaving you alone to your thoughts, the good and the bad.

But especially the bad.

-

Right now, it’s late and you’ve been sitting on the couch, trying to get to sleep. The T.V.’s on, you notice dully, some mindless

_guilty pleasure, totally great, not that you’d ever admit it_

reality show. The only sound you can hear is your own breathing

_though you know the sound is on, that’s weird, you swear Cro flicked it on before he left-_

You take a sharp breath.

He left you here. Alone. Alone to your thoughts.

He said it would be for the best, that it wasn’t good for him to be there,

_which is complete bullshit, but something in his eyes tells you maybe he actually thinks it’s true, but it’s not, it’s not, why would he think that?_

he’d already made a mess of the bathroom and the living room with the gill thing and the rage thing. He said he should leave because he wanted what was best for you.

He thought _you’d_ be good for you.

He’s so fucking wrong it hurts.

It hurts you, deep inside.

This hatred, this pain, it’s like a hand that grips your lungs and your heart and your _everything_ and squeezes _hard_.

It drowns you, chokes you, rips you apart from the inside. It’s like a dozen knives over your abdomen, spinning and gutting you open for all the world to see. You can see it now;

_much too clearly, you can see it much more clearly than is comfortable_

you, tied down on a metal table, leather straps tight around your wrists and ankles. You’re on your back,

_just like when Kan ripped you in half, eyes locked upwards, unable to comprehend what was happening_

unable to close your eyes,

_the light is blindingly sharp, unrelenting and patronizing, revealing and probing, seeping harshly into your pores and your gills and your cracks, finding every little thing that you’ve done wrong, every harsh word you’ve ever mumbled under your breath, calculating and judging_

watching in numb horror

_and acceptance_

as a faceless doctor, clad in all-white,

_angelic white_

a sharp, glinting cleaver in his hands. He’s wearing green gloves, the kind you use to wash dishes. He

_hold on, no, wait, something is wrong here_

_She._

She smiles, fangs poking out of her black

_impossibly black_

lips. 

_when did she get a face?_

Jade green eyes sparkle in amusement

_and joy, a malicious joy_

at your situation. She tilts her head, cleaver held thoughtfully in one hand. 

The room is drowned in static. You can’t hear a damned thing but the roaring of what sounds like a chainsaw. The revving sound shakes you to your core, and dimly, you realize that not only has she raised the cleaver high

_no, not cleaver. chainsaw._

but that you are screaming and thrashing wildly, incoherent pleads and animalistic sounds tearing themselves from your throat. You’re not crying, though.

You’re afraid, but you have some dignity.

“Dignity? Please.” Her voice is smooth, and the revving dies down before returning, louder than before.

_wait fuck, you’re not alone, what_

All around you are familiar faces, mocking faces of your friends-

“friiend2?” Sol mocks, teases, and you go to scream when his eyes flash blue and red and Kan brings the chainsaw down and everything is still. There is violet on their grinning faces. Your stomach feels wet and hot. There is no more revving, just silence.

Then everything goes a brilliant white, white blinding pain, colors flashing in front of your eyes, jade green, violet, blue, red, yellow, fuschia, every color of the hemospectrum blinks angrily. There is a loud screeching noise,

_you realize it’s your voice_

and your mind goes mercifully blank.

-

You wake up screaming on the ground.

You’re sobbing

_“Dignity. Ha. As If You Ever Had Any. What A Joke.” A smooth, elegant voice breathes in your ear_

and you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, 

_of course you can’t breathe, she just **cut you in half,**_ _oh my god_

Desperately, in a moment of lucidity, your flailing hands manage to grasp the edge of the couch. With a grunt of effort you haul yourself up to a kneeling position, claws nearly ripping through the fabric and sending you tumbling back down

_down, down, down into the depths of your self-hatred and nightmares, back to your fears and your regrets, back to everything you thought you’d overcome but found out you’d only shoved back, only left in the corner for it to feed and to grow stronger into a monster you could never hope to conquer, because how do you conquer yourself?_

to the carpet. Blindly, lavender pouring down your cheeks, you throw yourself at the door. It’s open

_ “wow, you iidiiot. leaviing the door open now? hopiing 2omeone wiill come 2ave you? how deluded **are** you?” _

so you stumble out, the door careening back into your shoulder. The sudden blunt pain sharpens everything for a few moments, long enough for you to find your bearings. You do, and with a mumbled whine, you start running.

Hive after hive you pass, until a small one seemingly rises up out of nowhere. You trip, shoulder slamming into what you thought was a wall but is apparently the window from the cold glass you can feel through your thin gray sweater. A wave of pain rolls through you, and you slap a hand onto the glass pane to steady yourself, the frosty cold sending a shiver sweeping down your spine. With a groan, you’re about to pull yourself up to continue forward

_where you don’t know, anywhere but here, somewhere where your mind cannot reach_

when a voice rings out in the dim light of the weak sun.

“Hell9? Are y9u alright?”

You freeze. A moan of distress slips out and you push off the ground to start running again, far, far away from anyone-

_who might judge you, who might hurt you the way Kan did_

_how Kan is_

Finally, you see a familiar violet-tinged hive,

_the flamboyant bastard, he covered the fucking door with scales, who does that_

a hive you know well. Recklessly, you crash into the door

_“ALL YOU ARE IS A FUCKING BURDEN, ERIDAN. THAT’S ALL YOU ARE, ALL YOU’LL EVER BE.”_

You meant to say something else entirely, of course. But like everything lately, you fucked it up.

You meant to say ‘Cro, fuck, open the fuckin’ door, oh god, open the door!’ but instead, what came out was

_a failure, just like you_

“crooooooo…”

You slump against the door, exhausted,

_can’t even hold yourself up under all this weight_

_“ii2n’t he cute when he thiink2 he de2erve2 help?”_

_“I Couldnt Agree More.”_

_“)(e's suc)( a waste. )(e cod )(ave been so muc)( more, but )(ere )(e is. Just aknotter pile of tras)( to be t)(rown awave. I don't even know w)(y I tried wit)( )(im.”_

but keep your eyes open.

You’re too damn scared of what’s behind them to risk closing them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter titles: a friend of mine that goes by nak told me that I should title chapters like bad pornos. the original title for the first chapter was gonna be Eridan ==> get rekt
> 
> but now its this
> 
> send help.


	2. young violet twink has fun, gillplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cronus Ampora, the story.

Your name is Cronus Ampora and you are an idiot.

It wasn’t Eri’s fault that Kur had ripped open one of your gills during one of your violent blackrom dates. It wasn’t his fault that you had been in such a shitty, aggressive mood. It wasn’t his fault, but there you were, hissing and screaming and cursing, throwing around devastating

_-ly true, you were his moirail after all. You knew him better than he knew himself_

insults and accusations at him. He didn’t deserve the pushing and shoving you’d inflicted. He didn’t deserve the things you’d said

_the things you were about to say_

The only reason you ever stopped

_especially when your vision had gone red_

was a quiet, hiccupy, desperately afraid whine.

The absolute shock and confusion had knocked you back into your senses, but not fast enough

_not nearly fast enough, you shoulda never gotten mad in the first place_

It had taken an hour to calm the younger Ampora down; an hour of shoosh papping, apologizing, “oh my god wwhat’s wwrong wwith ya gills?”, sitting down, sewing, cursing, more whispered apologies

_why was he even apologizing to you, he’d done nothing wrong_

_he thought you didn’t notice his hands shaking, the way he flinched every time you moved too fast_

_it was the only thing you noticed, the only thing that you held your focus_

Anyways.

You went home after that to nurse your wounds, anxious and worried that you might accidentally snap at him again if you stayed any longer.

So there you are, lying on the couch, half-watching Grease, half-dozing off. It’s been a long day and you just want to relax, kick back

_pretend you didn’t make your moirail cry a few hours ago_

Yeah.

Relaxing sounded like a good plan at the time.

-

There’s a sudden BANG at the door that slaps you awake from your stupor. Sitting up straight, you stare at the door, a pistol clumsily decaptchalogued into your shaking hands, resting sloppily in your palm. You stand up and nearly crash into the door in your haste, but manage to put an ear to the door. What you hear make you want to throw up.

What you hear is the most strangled, pathetic, lonely,

_scared_

"crooooooo..." you've ever heard. Numbly, you wonder if you should check the peephole but then

_to your complete horror_

there's a quiet thud and you can't help the gasp that comes out.

You don't even hesitate to throw open the door. In your haste, the pistol gets dropped and kicked off to some corner. You're a little too busy to notice exactly where it went.

What you see has you moaning in low horror and breathing out an "Oh shit..."

Eri lies there in a thin sweater

_much too thin, he must be freezing_

and lavender sweatpants.

You stare at him for a moment before kneeling before him.

"wvhat the fuck Eri,"

_ "wvho did this to you, wvho wvould dare," _

"are you okay-"

He just stares at you, eyes wide and vulnerable

_more vulnerable and desperate than you've seen them_

_it scares you_

That look on his face makes you want to rip whoever did this apart-

_whoever had the goddamn nerve_

He sobs, and you've already pulled him to your chest before he can even mumble a protest

_you like to think he wouldn't have protested though_

Instead, he shivers

_you fucking knew it that sweater is a piece of shit_

and leans against you, burying his face into your chest, body shaking from the force of his sobs. You hold him tighter, shooshing and papping gently. His breathing stutters and gets a little slower, but it still sounds strained. You grimace in sympathy at the sound. He sounds like he's about to have a coughing attack

_the poor thing_

Which he then proceeds to have.

You shoosh him and rub his back in small circles, carefully and slowly standing up, pulling him with you so you can brace him against you better. He wheezes, and you can literally feel his chest contracting and expanding desperately, lungs searching for air that's right there but somehow also isn't. From this angle, you can see his gills wide open, opercula ragged-looking

_they almost look like gashes in his throat, black holes rimmed with violet that threaten to completely rip open, to leave a wound that would leave him utterly vulnerable, so much that not even you could save him_

_you feel like if you don't do something, he'll drown, drown in an ocean of his own self-hate and memories, but how could that happen? He's a seadweller, just like you, his kind was made to survive thousands of feet under that black, crushing, thick water, built to breathe when anything else would drown. Trolls like him, like you, are not supposed to complain about the ability to take more abuse, more time, and more loneliness, all the things your blood 'gifted' you_

_it's times like these you want to be human more than ever_

_god, you knew he was having nightmares, memories of the game, but you never thought it was this bad, but then again, you died by bomb, quickly and unexpectedly_

_he sure as hell didn't_

and gills much more open than what looks healthy. Gently, you let him go,

_though you wish you could hold him forever_

and usher him inside, one hand on the younger Ampora's shoulder to steady him.

You want to turn to close the door, but on the other hand, that would require letting him out of your sight

_god knows you never want to do that ever again, not after this_

so instead you kick the door closed, straightening up behind his shorter

_more vulnerable, hunched in, lonely_

form. Suddenly, you're uncertain as to what the next move is.

_fuck. is he hurt? Should you check him for injuries? fuck, does he need some medicine? last thing you want to do is leave, but don't the humans have stuff for these kinds of things? anti-anxiety or something? can't you just give him some whiskey to calm him down? will that make it worse? what about_

You're ripped from your frantic thoughts when Eri whimpers and sways suddenly.

For a

_terrifying_

moment, you think he's about to pass out. Two steps forward, and you've hooked one arm around his back, the other swooping under the Aquarius’ knees.

Easily

_almost too easily, has he been eating okay? goddammit_

you cradle him bridal-style to you, crooning gently. He squeaks when you pick him up, going ridiculously tense.

When you say tense, you mean _tense_. He’s sitting straight up, back straight as a damn board, and you roll your eyes. You lean forward slowly, a small smile starting to spread onto your face.

He flinches. You stop, and it’s almost comical, the way your eyes widen

_you swear you can even hear the record fucking scratch_

and the way you freeze, swallowing hard.

Goddammit, you try not to tear up, but you do. The revelation hits you like a ton of bricks.

_he doesn’t trust you._

He doesn’t trust his moirail.

_he doesn’t fucking trust you._

Your own _fucking_ moirail doesn’t trust you.

Oh god-

_you’re a piece of shit, you’re a horrible person-_

You’re about to set him down, apologize, leave, _something,_ when he leans against you, first slowly, then all at once. You open your mouth to ask why,

_why would he trust you, you’re not fit to be anyone’s moirail, much less his_

when he turns his face towards your chest and glubs, a childish, silly sound.

You can’t help it, you finally do grin and hold him tighter.

_adorable little shit._

Cautiously, you lean down and press a gentle kiss to the bend in his horn. He relaxes a bit, and you get a little bolder, pressing another feather-light kiss to his fluttering fins, hoping desperately that it’ll calm him down.

Thank the gods, he sighs and burrows his face into your neck, going limp with a quiet groan. You flinch at the feeling of air against your wounded gill, but say nothing, just grateful that he’s okay.

“chief?” You ask, whispering carefully into his hair.

“‘m.” He grunts back. You smile wider despite yourself.

“you okay?”

“mhm.”

“you sure?”

“mmmhmm.” He shifts slightly. You can feel his breathing starting to return to normal, and you sigh in relief, then he mumbles something incomprehensible.

“tired?” You whisper in amusement. Goddammit.

_it bothers you sometimes, how quickly you get protective of him._

"mmmm." He mumbles back. Your grin widens, and you can't help but chuckle softly. He grumbles and whines indignantly, so you readjust your grip to pull him closer, cooing gently. You watch as his fins flutter in debility.

_it's about time someone put the little one to bed._

Mind made up, you walk towards the couch. Just as you're about to set Eri down, he clings to you, fingers entangling into your white shirt. Dimly, you realize your top is ruined, infused with tears.

_well shit._

"eri."

_alright, now how are you going to go about putting him down without letting go_

“mmmmm stay.” He mumbles fiercely, stubbornly.

_oh my god he’s so cute_

You sigh and carefully maneuver yourself so you’re lying down on the couch on your back. Eri shifts in response and you realize he’s on top of you now, nose still hidden in your neck. He’s breathing evenly, you notice. You also notice something rammed into your back, and you arch your spine to try and dislodge it. By the time you register what’s underneath you, it’s too late.

Grease is already blasting in your ears

_and you love Summer Nights as much as the next guy but fuck_

and you both jump, swallowing a curse. You fumble the remote until the TV gets shut off, and both the light and sound stop at the same time. You're drenched in dim sunlight and quiet.

There is silence.

You both laugh quietly as you toss the remote to the corner

_where the pistol is, something inside you whispers_

"cro."

"yeah?"

"youre an idiot."

You dissolve into laughter, and he tries to keep a straight face before bursting into a fit of giggles. As you smile at him and wave,

_his eyes are still bloodshot from crying_

he smiles back, nervously, shyly.

"feelin' better?"

He grunts and chirrs, looking at you with an

_incredibly, ridiculously so_

affectionate look.

"'m pale for you." He spits out suddenly, face concealed again so you can't see his expression. You can certainly guess what it is though, by the ways his fins are fluttering and he seems to be trying to become a pillow or something equally inconspicuous. You trill affectionately and nuzzle him.

“love you too, doll.” He squeaks and mumbles something about “damn human customs”.

_you'd be lying if you said you didn't notice the way his fins twitched subtly at 'too'. you're a lot of things, but you sure as fuck ain't innocent enough to think that he's okay just because one time you helped him calm down._

You mimic the mumble right back, high-pitched and childish. He giggles breathily, chirping tiredly but happily.

The two of you lie there, and within a few minutes, Eri has dozed off, out cold and snoring softly.

You nod off soon after, occasionally startling awake, before finally deciding 'fuck it' and listening to his breathing drowsily. You don't even realize your eyes have slipped shut.

_you tried not to fall asleep, you swear you did._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send help, there's more italics in this chapter than there are not. i think. idk i didnt actually check im just saying that cause it seems like it.
> 
>  
> 
> ...send help


	3. richard johnson's special 18+ yarn class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kankri has a better day and gets some (in a pale way).

Your name is Kankri Vantas and you're not sure what's happening. You are, however, sure you're going to find out.

It's much too late to ask for advice. At this hour, everyone will be in their recuperacoons, and the last thing you want to do is deprive someone of their well-deserved sleep.

_all of you deserve sleep, after winning the game._

Now here you are, in your chair near your window, reading,

_wishing you could talk to Porrim, even though her lusus-like qualities can make her a little overbearing_

though you're not going to try to bother anyone.

Lord knows

_#TW #m9n9theism #deism #Christianity #religi9us undert9nes #taking names in vain_

the last thing you need is Porrim babying you. Much too late in the night to be trying to fend her off.

With a sigh, you close _Fahrenheit 451,_ and set it down on the nearby table. Your eyes are starting to water from all the reading you've been doing. Blinking hard, you look over to the window.

Your jaw proceeds to go slack when you register what it is you're seeing.

You watch as a figure stumbles past your window, a hand trailing on the glass. You go to step back, decaptchalogue your scythes, do _something_ to protect yourself. Well, at least, that was the plan, until the figure suddenly slips down out of sight.

Curiosity drives you to the window to unlatch the heavy glass pane and slide it open. With a grunt, you carefully push it open and peek your head out, eyes searching the road for signs of life. You lean out and yell out to the figure, though you can’t see them.

“Hell9? Are y9u alright?”

The figure suddenly pops back into sight, but starts running. Well then.

There’s a deafening silence. You stop, look around, a hand above your eyes to guard against the light.

_this environment is not safe. your neighbors aren’t safe. this isn’t safe._

You swing one leg over and maneuver yourself out of the room, landing with a muted thump.

Crouching, you look around. Is someone….crying? Is that it? You squint and try to determine if that was indeed what you heard. The crying gets louder, more desperate.

You follow it, hugging the wall. Something about this entire situation strikes you as odd. Thinking back to that hand, eyes sliding closed, you picture it again. Purple tint. Long nails on slim fingers. Your brow furrows.

It couldn’t have been Cronus. You’d seen him go home, walking from the beta troll’s neighborhood, tired, back hunched, hands buried in his pockets, fins drooped.

_Not that you’d noticed._

You remember his gill had looked almost like it had been sewed up. You do remember that you were going to ask, but Porrim had pulled you away, and you had forgotten.

So, if it wasn’t Cronus…

You grimace. Those poor souls,

_#TW #souls #buddhism undertones_

having to live their lives taught that violence made one strong. You’d heard a little about what they had to do. It made you sick. Cronus had told you

_in a very vague way_

about what the younger Ampora had done, but now, now that you know the poor boy is obviously hurt,

_or at least hurting_

you think it was a little worse than ‘some bad things, chief, but he...apologized. he got better. he _is_ better. he’s a good kid, aight? lay off.’

Whoever it is, if it is indeed Eridan, stops in front of a very familiar hive.

_#TW #6ragging #assumpti9ns #specifically a69ut #pale quadrants #quadrants #t9tally knew it th9ugh #it was s9 96vi9us #every9ne knew_

You knew it. You _totally_ knew it. You knew those two were pale, or at least approaching something pale. You _knew_ it.

You watch from a few yards away, still leaning against the wall as he knocks desperately. _something in your chest burns, hot and angry, when he slides down the wall defeated._

You’re not sure what to call the surge of feelings you get when Cronus

_FINALLY_

opens the door and pulls Eridan inside.

In fact, you spend a little while trying to put a name to it, long enough that the weak sun dips under and the world goes darker, just dark enough that you can see without too much trouble, but not so dark that you’re reaching for your scythes.

You huff and pull your arms to your chest. That’s enough thinking. You’re cold. And concerned.

Really cold. Really concerned. Really concerned.

Concerned

_and cold_

enough that you consider knocking on the hive’s tall door.

Mostly, you’re concerned about Eridan

_ridiculously so_

and his state of mind. A panic attack like that could kill.

With that lovely, warm thought in mind, you do drag yourself to the door and knock.

A few times.

For a moment, no one opens. You wonder if this was a good idea.

“‘s open.” A rough, tired voice calls, and you glance at the doorknob. Slowly, you open the door.

You sigh quietly

_in relief_

as your eyes readjust, now able to see the two Amporas on the couch.

“I just-” You suddenly feel really stupid. Obviously he’s fine. He has his dancestor. You don’t need to be here.

This was a bad idea.

“I just wanted t9 make sure Eridan was 9kay. That’s all.” You finally say after a long while, glancing at your shoes before looking back up at the older Aquarius, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“he’s fine.” Cronus replies, and you don’t miss the way his shoulders tense and the arm tightens around Eridan.

You’ve overstepped your bounds and offended him. Again.

“I’m s9rry, I wasn’t trying t9 imply-”

He raises an eyebrow, and you trail off.

“ya wveren’t?” He says sharply, and you wince.

“I-”

You don’t even finish the first word when Eridan shifts, groaning softly. Cronus shoots you a look before shooshing and papping Eridan. The boy yawns and snuggles back up to the eldest’s chest, and you have to fight to hide your blush.

_this isn’t, you shouldn’t, you should leave_

_no of course you don’t have pale feelings for Cronus_

_don’t be ridiculous._

_…maybe a few feelings_

_it’s just a little tiny crush that’s all_

He glances at you, and you swallow.

“chief. siddowvn.” He motions to the couch, pulling himself up so he’s upright, shifting his moirail

_his moirail, he has a moirail, you are so out of line_

to lie with his back to Cronus’ chest.

You swallow and slowly

_ever so slowly_

position yourself onto the couch.

The room is quiet, and you focus on the sound of the two sea-trolls’ breathing, one steady and even, the other ragged, pausing every so often as if to speak, before exhaling again.

You look at him. He looks at you.

“so.”

“This is a 6it awkward.”

“just a bit.”

You glance at the younger violet. “He seems 9kay.”

“mhmm.” You don’t miss the way he almost smiles before stopping, looking at you again. You’re not sure what the look in his eyes mean.

“S9mething wr9ng?”

He makes a vague gesture.

You roll your eyes.

Just like that, the spell is broken when you both notice Eridan flinch and whine.

_is he waking up-_

His eyes stay closed, so that shuts down that thought rather quickly. Cronus keeps one arm crossed over the young sea-troll’s chest, moving the other to brace himself on the couch to keep the two steady. Eridan whines again, and your eyes widen in alarm as he starts keening, saying things you don’t understand, occasionally in Alternian, other words in a language you assume is seadweller, marked by its musical, flowing sounds.

_If the situation wasn’t...well, what it is, you’d probably ask them to teach you whatever that language is. It’s rather pretty._

_Even when it’s being used during a panic attack._

_Focus Kankri. Priorities._

Cronus is trilling in concern when you do snap out of your thoughts, shooting you desperate looks as the smaller troll turns so his face is concealed in Cronus’ neck, still crying out in fear.

“What-”

“i don’t knowv, i don’t knowv!” Cronus hisses, cutting you off hurriedly, trying to calm the other Aquarius down.

He’s failing, and it scares you.

You watch in numb shock as the violet starts to bawl and wail harder, louder. Eridan is panicking, Cronus is panicking, you’re panicking, so you do what Porrim does when you’re panicking.

You lean forward, carefully pull the panicking fishtroll to you so he’s still facing the elder violet, wrap your arms around his chest, and start to whisper into his ear, gentle things you hope will calm him down.

_#TW #presumption #assumptions #thinking one knows what to do in situations #can get one in a lot of trouble_

“Shh, shh, y9u’re 9kay, everything is 9kay, 6reathe, deep 6reaths, shh…” At first, he fights against you in fright, but you hold him steady, shooshing and mumbling, rubbing his chest in slow circles. Eventually, he goes limp and just leans back, sobbing quietly. You can hear him better now, and what you hear sends chills down your spine.

“im sorry, im sorry, please, no, please dont, oh god, oh god…”

Then incomprehensible words, and more whimpering.

Cronus gives you an incredulous look before bending forward and putting his hands on the other’s shoulders gently. You swallow and hold Eridan tighter, watching Cronus and still muttering reassuring things into the boy’s fins.

“eri.”

Whining.

“chief.”

Sobbing.

“eridan.”

Flinch, lean away.

“eri. look at me.”

“nooo…”

“eri.”

Eridan opens one eye and moans.

The older Aquarius chirrs soothingly and moves his hands up so they’re cupping the beta troll’s face, lightly, sluggishly

_he’s probably just as tired as Eridan, Amporas aren’t very lucky are they_

_what is it about them that has you waxing pale?_

He tilts forward so his forehead touches the youngest of you three.

“eri. chief. you’re okay.”

Whimper.

“shhh.”

You bend forward too, tilting your chin so the younger’s head is below yours. Carefully, cautiously, you lean down and press a slow, chaste kiss to the base of his right horn. He shivers and groans. Taking a deep breath, you lean over and kiss his right fin, speaking softly into his temple.

“It’s 9kay. We’ve g9t y9u.”

The elder seatroll trills in agreement and murmurs something quietly.

Eridan’s sobs quiet until his strength is completely sapped and he relaxes against you, eyes sliding closed in exhaustion. Cronus shoots you a grateful look, and you chirp at him.

It’s just now you realize where you are, what you’re doing. You let go of the youngest

_now calm, thank everything_

Ampora, leaning back in horror and shame.

“I am s9 s9rry, that was c9mpletely 9ut 9f line, I’m s9rry, I sh9uld leave, 9h g9ds…”

Cronus shooshes you, eyes gentle and drained. 

_he looks like he’s about to drop, and you can’t help but want to_

_no stop. stop that._

“N9, n9, y9u d9n’t understand, this is wr9ng, s9 wr9ng, y9u have a m9irail-”

“so?”

You stare. He falters, swallows, and regains his composure.

“wvhy can’t wve all be moirails?”

You gawk at him. You suppose the look on your face must have given away your confusion, because he immediately 

“i mean, it’s a part a human culture. to havwe, um, more than one moirail. i mean. um. it’s okay.” He coughs, awkwardly. You’re about to speak when he starts spluttering hastily, desperate to finish.

"i mean, youre..."

You raise an eyebrow.

"youre...good for him. ya seem like ya knowv wvhat ya doin."

You glance at Eridan. He's turned around so he's sitting properly against the back rest, eyes down, hands on his knees and shoulders tense. His breathing is slow, almost like he's trying to appear invisible, like he wants to listen to the conversation-

_oh._

Your fingers twitch.

_You want to reach over and rub his back, make him feel better_

Cronus blinks and you glance at him, concerned all over again. He looks worn-out. Eridan turns to him, raising a hand to Cronus' and lacing their fingers together, thumb running over the older Ampora's, lethargically. Eridan turns to you now, an unreadable look on his face

_but his eyes are sparkling and hopeful_

"im okay wwith it, if ya wwere wwonderin." Cronus stifles a yawn and rubs his eyes, moving his hand to rest on his neck.

You swallow again, and raise a nervous

_slightly shaking_

hand. Eridan's other hand rises to meet yours, letting you entwine your red-tinted, thin, warm fingers through his callused, elegant ones.

Your trance is broken by Cronus yawning and stretching, purring quietly.

You and Eridan smile at each other before laughing quietly. Cronus chirps indignantly

_but you can see the hint of a smirk on his face._

You reach forward at the same time he does, knitting together your hand with his.

He winces suddenly, and you notice his gills

_especially the ragged one_

are spread out, one sewn up. He hisses quietly as Eridan lets go of his hand to rest on his shoulder, chirring in concern.

"it's nothin'. 'm fine."

Eridan frowns. "ya dont seem fine."

"wvell i am." Cronus tries to retort, but his voice breaks as he suddenly bends over and whines, a low and pained sound.

"ya seem marvvelous, i can see." Even through his alarm, Eridan tries to keep his voice light

__but he's frantic, eyes widening and fins fluttering wildly

Cronus just moans in response, his grip tightening on your hand. You squeeze back.

Eridan has apparently decided he’s had enough, because he lets go of your hand

_and you find yourself aching to have that icy cold palm resting against yours again_

to pull Cronus down. Cronus squeaks but doesn’t fight as Eridan leans him back, grabbing his shoulder and turning so he’s lying on his back, his head on your lap.

You’re going to protest when Cronus sighs and lets his eyelids flutter shut. It’s getting darker, you notice, watching the window awkwardly. The sun has almost completely set by this point

_wow you’ve been here quite some time_

Soon it’s dark, and you think to yourself in morbid amusement that you’ve been awake much longer than you should have been, for a whole day and night.

_Well. Nothing you can do about it now._

You blink and realize you have your hand in Cronus’ hair, rubbing the base of his horns. He’s become a purring mess, arching his head back into your hand. Eridan reaches forward and brushes a lock of hair off your forehead, gently. As you eye him, he drops his hand to Cronus’ forehead, twining a lock of jet black hair around his fingers and twirling it.

_wait, how are you seeing that, shouldn’t it be dark_

_are they...glowing?_

You swear the Ampora’s freckles and fins are glowing an ethereal, bright violet glow that sends strange shadows dancing across their faces.

“ya should close ya mouth, somethin might fly in.” Eridan drawls, and you do just that. Cronus giggles sleepily, reaching up out of nowhere.

You grab the offending hand and say nothing as he pulls it down to his face, purring deeper into your palm.

Dimly, you notice Eridan lean to the side and let his head droop onto your shoulder.

Both the seadwellers are cold on your skin.

A good cold, you decide.

A good cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so shoddily thrown about, but be glad i put this through a beta so the original drafts use of ululating is gone. i love the word ululating. i just cant use it worth shit.

**Author's Note:**

> the essence of my writing is "wtf the frick why the gosh darn heck can't i the words at my compooter screen more gooder????" 
> 
> line courtesy of my moirail


End file.
